


Yo Ho Sebastian

by NightFire



Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Minor Violence, My First Fanfic, Sailor AU, Slurs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-14
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-02-04 15:29:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1784104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightFire/pseuds/NightFire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story based loosely off of the song Gay Pirates by Cosmo Jarvis.<br/>Steve and Bucky are two new sailors aboard the ship America hoping for a life of swashbuckling adventure in fantastic new lands. Unfortunately the world is not an accepting place and things never end the way you want them to. (Also if you haven't listened to the song yet I would recommend it after you read, because it will spoil the ending.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Overboard

The water around you is dark and unforgiving as it pulls you under again and again. The salt burns your eyes and every breath of air comes in with a lung full of water, but all you can think about is Steve. You know he’s been thrown in with you and can’t swim very well thanks to his bum lungs and scrawny limbs. Diving beneath the surface to find him becomes harder and harder as the sea steals your strength. But he’s all you have and you think you might be screaming as things begin to go black and you can’t find out which way is up…and suddenly you’re falling and your head hits the deck with a thunk. As you roll over, you look up at Steve as he laughs his ass of at you for rolling out of your hammock. You scowl at him and cross your arms.

“And here I thought you were above laughing at other people’s pain. Some gentleman you are.” 

Your rebuke is somewhat lessened by the fact you’re still lying on the floor, but Steve stifles his laugh with an adorable snort and offers you a hand up.

“Just calling it like I see it Bucky, and that was pretty darn hilarious.”

You roll your eyes, but take the proffered hand and haul yourself to your feet. Steve has been your best friend for as long as you can remember and the idle banter brings you back to far gone days. You grew up in the small port town of Brooklyn on an island that was quickly growing with the influx of trade from the mainland. Steve had always wanted to be a sailor and sail away on one of the big royal Canavars to go adventuring, but he also had a way of drawing attention to himself in a bad way. It was really quite surprising how far he would go to support something he believed in and was often getting beat up for it. Steve however was a skinny guy with no muscle to speak of and no endurance, but since he couldn’t fight back, you became strong enough to fight for him. You vowed you would protect your friend against the whole world if that’s what it came to and you would be with him until the end of the line. Steve of course had laughed at that idea but had then leaned forward and kissed you for the first time and that made up for it. Unfortunately folks in your town hadn’t taken very kindly to your relationship. With scant money and an angry mob at your backs you and Steve had enlisted to join the crew of the next ship you came across that was going anywhere but back home. And so you came to be aboard the merchant vessel America. It was a grand ship with three sails and could outrun almost any pirate ship. Steve had become a night watchman, while you manned the sails during the day. You passed each other in the mornings and shared soft smiles and gentle kisses away from prying eyes. Sometimes you would wake up in the middle of the night to stay up with Steve and chat the hours away ‘till the sunrise. Steve always insisted that you needed sleep more than he needed company, but you always laughed and made fun of his concern. It was a pretty good existence.

You took the proffered hand and glanced around before giving Steve a kiss on the nose.

“Sleep well Steve.” You say before ruffling his golden hair playfully.

“And you be careful in the ropes, don’t want to wake up to you having broken anything.” He says pushing away your hand and climbing into his bunk. You put your hand over your heart in mock indignation while walking backwards toward the ladder to the upper decks.

“Me fall? You wound me Steve. I’m the best damn sea dog they have on this raft.”

“You keep telling yourself that Buck and maybe it will be true someday.”  
You grin and spin around waving goodbye with your back turned before climbing the ladder.

The salt wind hits you with force ruffling your hair and making your eyes water in a way you’ve found you quite enjoy during your first month at sea. You breath in deeply before launching yourself up the ratlines to the mast and up into the rigging. The skies are blue and the wind is bracing and it’s wonderful. You take orders all day running across the yards and enjoying the sunshine. As nice as life is on America, you can feel the eyes of the other sailors on your back ever since you and Steve came aboard. You hope it’s just that you’re new and they don’t trust easy and not something more. Your worst fear is them finding out about you and Steve. Men like these don’t take kindly to relationships like yours and you couldn’t live with yourself if anything happened to Steve.

The sun is beginning to sink when you make your way down to the deck to get some grub before hitting the hay. A heavy hands lands on your shoulder and spins you around.

“Hey boy, thought we ought to give ye’ the welcome aboard party since ye’ managed to survive the first month.” Says a heavy set sailor who is likely one of the oarsmen. He is backed up by another three who grin at you wickedly. You don’t like the look in their eyes, but grin back anyway.

“That’s swell of you really, but I’d better pack it in for the night. Not used to the early mornings yet and all that.” You laugh genially and try to leave, but the meathead’s hand is still on your shoulder and digs in as you turn to go. He laughs with you, but it doesn’t sound at all friendly.

“Oh but we insist. C’mon we got everythin set up bellow. It’ll be fun.”  
You can’t do much as he steers you toward the ladder for the cargo hold, the other three forming a guard around you. Your hands ball into fists, but you can’t hit him here with all the other men around. They’d believe whatever story he told over yours because he’d been here longer, and you’d definitely be thrown over. As you’re led below you try to steel yourself for whatever they plan to do and hope they don’t go after Steve. Once down, the burly man shoves you roughly across the hold into a couple barrels. You steady yourself and give a smirk.

“What’s all this about then?” You say getting into a fighting stance. “I though we were having a party.”

One of the other men closes the hatch to the deck, while the other two and the muscled one close in around you boxing you in. You glance around trying to asses your options, but it doesn’t look pretty for you in the long run. The meathead crosses his arms and glares down at you. He’s a good head taller than you, but you’re likely faster and can land a few good hits before he clobbers you with his hammer hands. Your musings are broken off when he speaks.

“We’ve been watching ye’ since ye’ came aboard our ship and I can’t say we’re happy. The way ye’ handle them sails is mighty fine, but the way ye’ look at that twig ye’ brought with ye‘…now that is just wrong. So we thought we should enforce the rules before things get further. They say ye’ can’t beat the fag out of a man, but we can sure as hell try.”

“What makes you think I’ve made any moves on my friend? Perhaps your jealous of my devilishly good looks. I would be too if I looked like you.”  
Wrong thing to say you realize as his fist connects with your gut driving away our breath. He grabs your shirt collar and snarls into your face.

“Ye’ won’t breath a word o’ this to no one ye’ hear. Or the next time we beat up yer twig.”

His breath is foul and reeks of stale wine and moldy cheese. Suddenly he punches you again. His cronies hold your arms back and keep you up as he pummels his fists into our abdomen over and over. Finally you’re dropped and boots dig into your side a couple times before you hear them stomp away laughing. Black spots dance in your eyes and you feel woozy, but you force yourself up clutching your stomach. The deck seems to lurch beneath you and you topple back down vomiting up your meager breakfast and dry heaving until your throat burns. Finally you stumble to your feat and somehow make your way to the sleeping quarters. Steve is waiting for you, sitting up in his hammock.

“What happened? Bucky are you okay?”

You wave him off muttering something about bad bread and an upset stomach before collapsing into your own hammock. Even though your head is buried in the sheets, you can hear the frown in his voice when he wishes you a good night and wanders out. You won’t tell him about this you vow. It would worry him too much and he would try to fight them off and only make things worse. You fall asleep to the feel of pain and the thought of protecting Steve.

Things got progressively worse over the next few weeks. They moved on from just beating you to whipping you until the world went black with your pain and you knew no more. They even pissed in your hammock, forcing you to not sleep on the floor. But you always made sure to smile for Steve. You joked about getting into an argument with some of the others over a bad gamble and them being poor losers, or getting into a drunk brawl, but never the truth. You couldn’t put that kind of burden on Steve’s shoulders. He would take everything as his fault and fall into a state of depression. You couldn’t see Steve that way. He deserved to always be smiling. One night the pain in your back kept you from sleep so you picked up your ukulele and relieved the other man on night watch to sit with Steve.

You sit together looking over the dark water in silence for awhile before Steve turns to you and his blue eyes stare into yours with more seriousness than you‘ve seen in a long time.

“Bucky, something is up and I want you tell me the truth.”  
You look away and strum a few cords avoiding Steve’s intense stare.

“Just a disagreement with some of the other sailors is all. Nothing to worry your pretty little head over.”  
You try to give him a comforting smile and begin to hum a simple tune to go with your cords. You know Steve won’t give up that easily considering how concerned he had looked, but you would try to change the subject regardless.

“A simple disagreement? You’ve been beaten black and blue and can’t even sleep in your hammock anymore. Why don’t you trust me with the truth?”

That hurt. Steve was playing the trust card and giving you the big sad puppy dog eyes that always made it hard to say no. You continue to stare out into the night avoiding his gaze and humming.

“You can’t ignore me Bucky. If this is serious you can tell me. I can help. I’m not a child anymore.”

You pause at that and stop strumming to look over at him. Your gaze softens as you look over his concerned features. You reach up and run your fingers through his hair.

“It’s just not the right time Steve. I do trust you. I really do. But I can’t tell you just yet. Wait a little longer alright?”

He frowns obviously not happy with your answer, but he accepts it with a small nod.

“I’m with you.” he says. You smile and pat his cheek gently.

“’Till the end of the line. Now what should I play tonight?” You ask cheerfully trying to break the mood. “Something sweet and soulful to match our star-crossed love? Or perhaps a saucy ballad?” You nudge him playfully with your shoulder and strum a few happy cords.

“Or perhaps something lighter to brighten up the night?” Steve laughs and shakes his head.

“Anything’s okay with me really. How about a song we both know?”

“You know all my songs Steve, and it’s not like I’ve time to learn new ones.”

“Exactly.” He replies leaning his head on your shoulder. You laugh and launch into a silly song about drunk bears, and the two of you sing the night away.  
Regrettably it seems your night of merriment did not go un-noticed by your tormenters. By the foot of your bed is a new pair of boots and a letter that reads simply:

Dear Lover Boy,  
Found a lovely new pair of boots you might like. I’d be heart broken if you didn’t wear them. But I could always give them to your friend. I’m sure he’d love them.

You frown and look into boots to see the soles filled with broken glass. You shudder and slip off your own boots. The day is pure torment. Every step fills your whole leg with shooting pains and you can’t even feel your feet by the end of it. You stumble more than once in the rigging and nearly fall to the deck far, far bellow. You feel pale and cold when you return to your hammock that night. Which of course you can’t sleep in. You dread taking off the boots, but know you must at least try to repair some of the damage. It is not a pretty sight. You wash away the blood with salt water and wrap your feet in old bits of rag to try and keep the skin together. The blood loss is causing your vision to blur slightly and you force yourself to stay awake that night just in case you don’t wake up. You don’t stop being with Steve though. He’s the last good thing in your life and you’re not going to give that up without a fight. You can tell he is getting more and more worried for you, but he respects your request for him to wait. It won’t be another three months ‘till you reach land and you pray you can last that long.

The beatings come nightly and they make you wear the glass boots at least once a week. You’re weak and tired and ache all over by the time you get to the last month before land fall. It’s come to the point where you think they probably wouldn’t stop even if you did end all contact with Steve. They seem to love to torment you for every little thing these days. Part of you is glad they seem to have forgotten about Steve, but you also worry they could turn on him any moment. Your kisses with Steve get more and more desperate as you never know which one will be your last, and he grows ever more worried about what is happening. He can see you falling apart and it hurts him almost more than it’s hurting you. It’s when you’re so close to hope that things of course take a turn for the worst. During an evening inspection by the captain you feel woozy from lack of sleep and pain and fall from the main yard. A sharp kick to the side jolts you back from fainting and you try your best to stand. The captain scowls down at you imperiously.

“Whatcha laying about for boy? Get to yer feet before yer captain. Or are you too drunk to even stand?” You can hear the crew laughing with the captain, but right now you’re just trying to quell the panic and stifle the pain long enough to survive this. You manage to stand, but the world is spinning in a particularly unsettling way.

“Well boy? What do you have to say fer yourself?” Asks the captain a bit irritated. You open your mouth to reply when that meathead oarsman buts in.

“The fags an out right lay about. Does nothing but drink and think about men all day.”

“Is that so?” Growls back the captain. You feel your stomach drop into your feet in dread.

“We can’t have a no good lazy ass on board this vessel. And then there’s our policy on man-lovers. What say you lot? Overboard?” A yell of overboard roars around the crew. You look around frantically for Steve as they grab your arms and legs and tie you up. You finally find him in the crowd trying to make his way toward you. His face is full of panic and righteous indignation. He always did have a thing for justice and this was certainly the farthest thing from it. He catches your look and mouths that he is going to get you out of this. That everything is going to be fine and you can be together again. But you know it’s a lie and you smile and nod before mouthing back.

“I’m with you ‘till the end of the line.” They’re making you walk the plank, but you keep your eyes locked on Steve. He’s been restrained by the doctor and tears are streaming down his cheeks. You can’t quite hear him over the rest of the crew, but you’re pretty sure he’s calling your name. You feel your feet are at the edge of the plank now. You spin around, give an awkward salute with bound arms, and try to give Steve a reassuring smile, before tipping backwards into the sea. 

It’s nothing like your nightmare months ago. The water is calm and washes over you in a gentle embrace. You sink quickly and gaze up at the sunset through the water as the surface grows farther away. You think about how beautiful the light is in the water as you give in with a sigh, letting your lungs fill with water. You close your eyes and dream about the life you never got to have with Steve. But it’s alright you think because he’s still got a future, and that’s more than you could ever ask for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I wrote this rather quickly last evening for a friend who said they would bake me brownies if I did. Partially procrastinating in studying as well, but regardless, here is this thing. I'm going to write more about Steve after the fall, but whether I post it is up to you. So if you want more let me know in the form of a comment, kudos, or bookmark so I can get on it.  
> Thank you for taking time to read my story :D


	2. After the Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So I ended up writing more of this to avoid a history essay. oops. This is more of a short transition chapter to lead back into the story line I want to do though. For this I needed to get through the events of the first Captain America movie and get into Winter Soldier, and thus you get an exposition chapter.

The next few weeks for Steve pass by as if he is caught in some dream he can’t seem to shake. He eats, sleeps, and works, as if everything is as it were, yet everything is wrong. It’s the kind of wrongness that makes the world duller and gnaws away at the soul until it drowns in the darkness. Steve wants to be sad, or angry, or just anything but this empty wrongness, but it’s as if loosing Bucky has shut down everything he was. 

He leaves the America when they make port and simply lets himself drift. He ends up drinking more than he should and walking the streets without seeing the people or feeling excited about the prospects of a new land. He’s not sure how much time has passed before his near nightly walk to the pub is interrupted by a loud voice that has drawn quite a sizeable crowd by the roadside.

“Are you going to let those bastards take our oceans?! Are you going to stand by while the people of this world are persecuted and wronged by the devil of the seas?! We fight for order! We fight for freedom! We fight for justice in an unlawful world! You can join our fight! We need you for the navy!”

The crowd roared its approval and the men surged forward to sign a registry that the announcer passed around. Steve watched mesmerized for a moment. Bucky always told Steve that if there was anything in that skull of his it was a voice crying for justice. He smiled for the first time in what might have been a lifetime as he remembered picking fights for the underdog and never backing down from his beliefs. Steve didn’t think he’d ever move on from Bucky, but this was as good as a distraction as was available. Plus if he died it would be done for a good cause and Bucky wouldn’t beat him up in the after life for being a lovesick idiot.

Considering his less than prodigal strength, the next few months of training for Steve passed in a haze of gasping breathes and muscle pains. But he always worked harder than the others to improve, and used his brain more often than his brawn to solve problems. He also slowly opened back up to the world. Taking notice of the uniqueness of the country he was in and making a name for himself as the base artist as he drew almost everything new he saw in a little notebook. He talked more with the others and even found he could laugh again as time passed. Although, now and again he would turn to where Bucky should have been to tell him a new joke, or add him into his drawings. He could still feel the familiar pang of loss in those moments, but it wasn’t nearly as heart wrenching as before.

When it was finally time to ship out he almost didn’t recognize himself in the little mirror hung by washroom. He was nearly the model of what a soldier ought to look like. His gold hair a neat trim, his uniform covering layers of hard packed muscle, his height nearing the tall end of the spectrum, and his strong jaw set with a determined expression, he was a different man from what had come into the camp. And perhaps that isn’t a bad thing. He thought remembering how broken he had been before. But no matter what comes, I’ll remember you Bucky. I’m with you ‘till the end of the line. 

~~~~~~~~~X~~~~~~~~~~

The war wagged upon the high seas was a dance of death acted out to the sound of cannon fire and men’s final screams. Steve Rogers became a decorated captain by leading a near kamikaze mission into enemy land that ended in the return of almost all the prisoners of war from one of enemies largest camps. Afterwards he created a dedicated crew of the best and bravest men to man his ship the Howling Commando and was considered one of the best sailors in the navy. Known for his loyalty, valor, and prowess in battle, Captain Rogers became an icon around which many from his side rallied. The final battle of the war was fought nearly two years after its beginning. Though the Howling Commando was lost, Captain Rogers took down the general and commandeered his flagship, which was at a point before the war, a merchant vessel called America. If Captain Rogers went pale and misty eyed upon hearing the name of the ship, no one bothered to question him.

After the war many of the old crew of the Howling Commando chose to return home and try to forget the horrors of war, but Steve Rogers set sail again. Bringing together a new crew, he set forth upon the seas to bring justice and peace as the new Captain of America.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you think this is the end, think again, I have plans for more of this nonsense! But all the same, I thank you sincerely for reading this, and maybe telling me what you think.


End file.
